


Oubliette

by hydrangea



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exploration of characters and relationships, Extended Mythology, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Religion-friendly, Voyage of the Dawn Treader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/pseuds/hydrangea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Lucy and the Sea are tightly bound in ways few still remember.</p><p>
  <em>Among the detailed items was a mention of a small box carrying the gilded emblem of Queen Lucy the Valiant, youngest Queen of the previously mentioned coregency, carved into its lid. Shidmi Tisroc mentioned that it was said that only the cleverest of minds would be able to open the box and that, should it be opened, a curse would fall upon the person that did so without the Queen’s permission.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oubliette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starbrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbrow/gifts).



> Thank you to Olga for having a quick read-through! Remaining errors are my own.

**From the Personal Journals of Caspian X of Narnia**

. . . at the early age of five that Dr. Cornelius began to tell me stories about Old Narnia. He told me of Cair Paravel, the Jewel of the Old Kingdom, and how it appeared on the cliffs above the Bight of Calormen after what he referred to the Speaking of the Prophecy. Only later did he tell me about how it fell – then he called it the Great Invasion, but now I know it was to hide that it was in truth what is described in Telmarine history as the finding of our new home.

When I was older and began to study history formally, he introduced me to _The Seven Journeys of Shidmi Tisroc the Illuminated_. It was a dreadfully dull tome in translation, he told me, but once I had mastered the Calormene language I would find it quite descriptive and beautiful. He also told me that Lord Anarith was a fool and should never be entrusted with translation – which seemed to me slightly treacherous at the time as Anarith was one of my Uncle’s closest friends – and that should I like to read further on the subject of the Old Kingdom I would do best to translate _The Seven Journeys_ myself.

Shidmi Tisroc was a famous traveler and in his writings, he describes Cair Paravel as follow:

_“. . . the sunshine reflected off [Cair Paravel’s] crystal windows could be seen from the Moors in the North to the Great Mountains in the South; and its beauty struck me to be equal to that of the Mourning Wells in Dizarabh on a clear morning. I wept at the sight of the Four Thrones and witnessed the beauty of light entering the Hall of the Sea through its stained glass windows depicting Queen Lucy the Valiant in the capacity of the Lady of the Sea . . .”_

It struck my fancy as it must have many other young men and for a solid month I cried every night because I would never see Cair Paravel or witness the wonders of which Shidmi Tisroc wrote. Cair Paravel had, according to all sources, fallen to an unknown assailant long before my birth; and it seemed me wholly unfair that the sight would be denied me.

As I grew older, however, my attention shifted from the fairytale qualities of Cair Paravel to the historical values that Dr. Cornelius had attempted to bring to my attention in the first place. I discovered the Narnian Archives, detailed by Shidmi Tisroc as a set of extensive chambers filled with treasures and items of importance from the Pevensie Coregency. The writings of Shidmi Tisroc were the only ones mentioning this place, few documents having survived the fall of the Old Kingdom.

Among the detailed items was a mention of a small box carrying the gilded emblem of Queen Lucy the Valiant, youngest Queen of the previously mentioned coregency, carved into its lid. Shidmi Tisroc mentioned that it was said that only the cleverest of minds would be able to open the box and that, should it be opened, a curse would fall upon the person that did so without the Queen’s permission.

I was fascinated by the box; once I became crowned I am ashamed to admit I spent considerable time searching the newly rediscovered Archives for it. At the time, I did not know that the Queen herself had removed it from the Archives to carry it with her during her stay in Narnia. Neither did I know that she, at her departure, entrusted the item to Trumpkin for the returning of the box to its proper place.

If I had, many events might have changed.

**Present Time; the Citadel Isle**

The sun was retreating up the algae-clad walls of her hiding place, the pieces of sky that Lucy could glimpse above changing from blue and grey to pink and orange. The air was growing heavy and still as night fell; and even down the well, she could hear the continuous song of the cicadas.

It had been an oubliette once, Lucy thought; a place to dispose of those you wished to forget. She had certainly found enough bones at the bottom of the well to know that it had been well-used. It wasn’t anymore. When the citadel had fallen, the attackers had also destroyed the sea walls, the remnants of which were still visible from the cove in which they had chosen to disembark in their intention to explore. The oubliette was now a tidal well rather than a prison, fed by the ocean through the cave systems worn into the porous rock of the citadel cliffs.

They had seen the citadel first; a great hulking thing on top of massive white cliffs, glaring bright in the sunlight. It had seemed uninhabited, the walls in disrepair and no buildings in sight other than the ruins. They had no warning before entering the citadel that within its wall there would be an outpost for the slaver’s market in the valleys beyond the cliffs.

Lucy wondered if the remainder of her party had managed to get away from their pursuers – if Devrashaan and Eustace had made it to the cove, if Caspian and Edmund could restrain themselves from antagonizing the guards had they been caught. They would antagonize them, she knew, just by the virtue of being themselves. This was no place for _reasonable_ people, no place for educated royalty.

Before their attempt to escape and her desperate lunge into the well during a moment of distraction, Edmund and she had agreed that this island must have ceded from the Lone Islands perhaps even before they had taken their thrones in Cair Paravel. To have it unknown to them – especially with all the indications of the island being a well-established slave hub – meant that they could have had no earlier knowledge of its existence. In addition to that; since there had seemed to be no danger before going ashore, Drinian had no orders but the standing ones: no more landing parties unless notified or given evidence of an emergency before two full days had passed.

There would be no rescue.

Lucy’s legs cramped and she began to sink. She threw her arms out, scrambling for a grip among the gaps in the ancient stones of the well lining, holding on as her legs seized, refusing to relax. The water sloshed around her, painfully loud in the silence, and she scarcely dared to breathe. She gritted her teeth against the pain, trying to carefully stretch her sore muscles out.

A flickering light above.

She took a quick deep breath and dove, pushing herself downwards. Before the water closed off all sound, she heard yells above and a dreadful rattle as the grating above was removed and a lantern was lowered into the oubliette.

 _They won’t get me_ , she thought, tugging at the ties holding her pelt securely in place against her chest.

The water grew colder as she neared the bottom; her ears popped and the increased amount of salt in the water stung the rope burns on her wrists. The ties loosened and she pulled out her pelt with her last bit of air. The shift was immediate; her senses turning into chaos even as her cramping muscles relaxed.

 _This is not the end_.

 

**The Past; England**

Eustace was listening in again—Lucy knew it. She wasn’t sure if Edmund had caught on, but she couldn’t care less for the moment. Despite being sticky from her earlier walk and feeling decidedly ungracious about the household chores Aunt Alberta had assigned her, the peace of the church she had found a few blocks to the north still lent her enough patience and good humor that not even her pesky cousin could disturb her. If pushed to describe the feeling, she would say that it felt like resting against Aslan’s flank as they watched the naiads play in the whitewater on a summer’s day in Narnia.

Of course, both patience and good humor quickly began to drain out of her as Eustace announced his presence and the all too common bickering between her cousin and brother started.

She felt the change as it happened—that deeply hidden part of her that never left Narnia woke up inside her and she could _feel_ the sea, pulling at her, whispering about riding the waves and diving into the trenches to explore the darkness below. Her eyes drifted from the ship riding a brisk wind in the painting that had so caught their attention, and, hypnotized by the swells, stood up to join Eustace at the frame.

A wave climbed the sea in front of them and crashed into the frame, then through it, and— _home_ , she thought dimly.

The water closed above her head, blue skies becoming sun-speckled green becoming blue. A shoe drifted past her face and she grabbed at it— _Edmund’s_ , she thought—then flinched as its mate hit her nose. She took a deep breath, her chest constricting, tightening her muscles to propel herself towards the surface—

Water burned into her lungs. Her arms lost their strength; her legs went leaden and dull. She blinked, and she imagined Edmund above her, nose pinched close and hair like Dead Man’s Fingers around his head.

The water turned black, her eyes stung—why was she still . . . ?

Black turned to white turned to red and then black again as her body seized. She rocked onto her side and threw up what felt like her entire stomach and even her entrails. Water dripped from her nose, her mouth; bile burned in her throat, scraping against raw muscles. She could taste salt—an overwhelming taste of salt—then, suddenly, voices pierced the haze of her mind—

“Can you hear me, Your Majesty?—Hurry! Bring the spiced wine—“

“She sank—she didn’t even attempt to make it to the surface! I haven’t seen her—“

“Her pelt—Lu! Lu, can you hear me?”

Lucy reached out blindly and grabbed someone; Edmund, judging from the curse he had most certainly not learned in England. “Fine—I’m fine . . . just a . . . moment.” She kept her eyes closed, breathing carefully— _one, hold, two, hold_ —trying not to think of being utterly _naked_ , of drifting, slowly, to the sea bed; to rest among the bladder-wrack like a wrecked ship, becoming nothing more than another lost soul in the endless—

A warm hand nudged a goblet against her lips. Startled, she jerked; the wine sloshed over the edge, spilling hot against her skin. “Give me—“ The goblet settled into her hand and she wrapped her fingers around it gratefully, sipping at it slowly and letting the familiar taste of Narnian spices warm her insides.

“Ed?” she managed after a while, squeezing the hand she still held. “Eustace, is he—?” She might not like him particularly well, but if he—she did _not_ want his death on her conscience.

“He threw up Aunt Alberta’s stew from yesterday, then passed out when he realized we were on a ship.” Edmund sounded as if his thoughts on that matter were not the kind that should be spoken of outside closed doors. “Caspian put him in a hammock to sleep it off—Lucy, we’re headed for the Lone Islands, and, from what Caspian say, it’s only been a handful of years since we were brought back to England.”

“A handful.” Her stomach roiled.

“Yes.”

By her reckoning, time moved far less in tandem with England than might be expected—a short amount of time had proven to be weeks or years before. For them to be brought back so soon. . . What might be the reason?

 

**Present; the Citadel Isle**

The slavers had given up finding someone in the well. Lucy floated half-way up the shaft, moving restlessly from time to time, as she waited for the last flickering of light to disappear from the darkness above. A small sound from beneath her caught her attention and she dove, snatching a red-flecked sandwhipper before it could escape back to the ocean through the cracks. She ate it gratefully; the tide had been high when she jumped into the well and the last low had only just passed. Her last meal would have been at least half a day ago – perhaps more.

Feeling slightly more optimistic after her bite of food, Lucy took another spin around the bottom of the oubliette, nosing at the cracks and diving into the hollows large enough to fit her. She found nothing she hadn’t found before – certainly no way into the ocean to reach the _Dawn Treader_ and alert Drinian.

For a moment, a flood of despair encompassed her, drowning the hope and determination that had sent her down here— _what if—how can I—are they even?—_ then she pushed off towards the surface to see if she could learn anything about the others. Night had fallen; not even slavers would spend the night searching for a runaway, no matter what price she might fetch at the markets. At least so she hoped—she had no way of knowing how important a female slave would be to these people. They had certainly—but no. She couldn’t think that way, not now.

Once again in possession of her arms, Lucy clung to the stones, climbing as far as she could manage and then listening. She could smell fish being cooked over an open fire, could hear the raucous sounds of people drinking and eating. Holding her breath, she listened as hard as she could, attempting to make out familiar voices. Finally, she took a risk and returned down to the water to shift, honking loudly.

It didn’t take long until she heard Edmund loudly mutter about the quality of the food given to slaves, managing to tell her all she needed to know through clever selection of words.

They were all alive – captured, but alive.

Lucy wanted to laugh, elation quickening her heartbeat and making her whiskers twitch. Instead she went back beneath the surface to make a few celebratory acrobatics. They were alive and in a few hours there would be high tide. She just had to wait.

 

**The Past; Onboard the _Dawn Treader_**

Lucy felt their stares every time she moved across the deck. Their eyes darted to her when they thought she would not notice; and Eustace took great pleasure in filling her in on their comments when she had not, as well as what was said in the berth at night. He didn’t know the history behind what they said, but he was clever enough to read her reactions. He knew it was a sensitive subject.

“ _He knows not what he does_ ,” she whispered to herself as she closed the cabin door behind her, echoing words that did not belong to Narnia.

She curled up in a window nook, tracing her fingers along Aslan’s mane painted on the glass, and resolutely keeping her back to the wall painting encircling the cabin. _The Lady of the Sea is apparently a bit of a luck bringer_ , Caspian had told her apologetically as he showed her around the ship. _All ships that come out of Narnia carry her—yours—likeness somewhere._ She hadn’t thought that included the state room. There was no way to escape her past self—whether her likeness on these walls or in the accusing stares on deck.

There was no way to forget that while Narnia was _home_ , this wasn’t _her_ Narnia.

“Your Majesty? May I speak with you?”

Lucy burst out in a smile and made her way to the door, falling to her knees to greet her small-statured friend. “Reep! I thought you were still in the Crow’s Nest!”

Reep’s whiskers twitched. “His Majesty—“ He glanced upwards to indicated Edmund in the Crow’s Nest rather than Caspian by the helm. Edmund had retreated there as soon as Eustace had come up from the berch for his daily promenade ( _This boat might not be_ civilized _but taking a_ civilized _promenade around the deck is still the proper thing to do!_ ). “—indicated that you might feel the need for a similar place to . . . rest.”

Lucy smiled, holding out her hand to act as a stepping stone. “And you know such a place?”

The twitch was most _definitely_ a smile this time. “Of course, Your Majesty. If you’ll excuse me—“ He jumped neatly into her hand, and then onto her shoulder. “—I would take great pleasure in guiding you there.”

Lucy giggled as his mice feet tickled her shoulder through the thin linen of her tunic.

“Apologies—“

“No need to apologize!” Lucy assured him. “I have carried your kind many times before.”

The stares still followed them as they crossed the deck, but for some reason, they seemed far less intrusive with Reep on her shoulder. He certainly paid the onlookers no heed, so neither did Lucy. When he jumped off her shoulder to show her the small hatch that opened into a crawl space that lead out to a platform in the dragon’s mouth, their existence was immediately forgotten.

“This is _lovely_!” she breathed, crawling out on her stomach and reaching down towards the sea over a low barrier (she imagine it was there to keep a lookout from falling overboard at a rogue wave). The _Dawn Treader_ rode onto a crest and then fell; water cascaded over the two of them, drenching them to the skin. Lucy licked her lips, then laughed at the salty crust already drying on her skin.

“My Lady of the Sea,” Reep said solemnly. He had taken up position beside her, nose pointed at the horizon and hand on his sword. “How anyone can doubt—“

Suddenly not quite as enamored by the sea, Lucy rolled to her back and stared at the blue sky. “They have good reasons.”

“They don’t know—“

“Why would they? I’m not their queen.”

The sound of a sword being drawn alerted her to the sudden fierceness set into every inch of Reep’s body. “If even one person dare speak of such treachery . . .!”

“Then their king will set them right.”

Caspian pushed his way through the small crawl space – from the sound of it having rid himself of his own sword before the attempt. Lucy didn’t confirm, however, keeping her eyes on the skies. It was curiously . . . hard facing Caspian and the differences the years had wrought to the boy that had been her friend. When they had last seen each other, he had been young – lanky and unsure how to move his body in the direction he sought to go. Now, he was far more assured, and the change far more than a little disconcerting.

“Reep, Drinian wanted you and Devrashaan to look over our supplies – he thought that they might have moved enough to interfere with the ballast.”

Reep replied and the two of them had a short exchange while Lucy studied the clouds moving past them from the east. There had been a build-up above a set of far-off islets at dawn, but by noon the heavy rain clouds had dissipated, and the tufts drifting slowly to the west promised little but the occasional shade—which, as she was beginning to feel a bit toasted, wouldn’t be wholly unwelcome.

After a little while she became aware of the silence and turned her head to find that Caspian had managed to fold himself into the space allowed him by her presence and was watching her with a peculiar expression on his face.

Suddenly feeling awkward, Lucy pulled herself upright and tugged at her tunic, hoping it wasn’t too revealing—some things even cavorting with dryads and naiads daily could quite change—and tried to summon her inner Queen Lucy the Valiant, only for it to fail as the silence dragged out between them.

“There’s a Narnian legend,” Caspian mused, finally taking his eyes off her and stretching his legs out to rest his feet on the edge, “surrounding you.”

Lucy’s stomach clenched. “Oh?”

“My good friend Dr. Cornelius once shared with me an old verse found in a Calormene memoir. Most of the verse had been lost to time before it was written down, but the preserved lines speak of heart-chests and furs—“

_“Careful, Majesty! There’s still magic, quite foul, I may add.”_

_Lucy snatched her hand back. “Are we sure it’s—“ She couldn’t bear to finish the sentence. It was so beautiful—it seemed impossible for something so beautiful to be made from such evil._

_“Selkies are born with white fur, Majesty, but it’s only a handful of days before it begins to shift in color.”_

_Her hand shook as she reached out again, skimming the coat with a mere whisper of touch. “There must be—it would have taken a dozen or more to make this coat.”_

_“This is the least of what Jadis the Usurper did to Narnia’s people, Majesty. The consequences, I’m afraid, cannot be said to be the same.”_

“Stop.”

She didn’t know she had said anything until the word hung between them with the sharpness of a knife.

Caspian didn’t look started—though she must have cut him short—but he had that peculiar look on his face again. She turned away; she couldn’t bare that look at that moment, not when her heart still raced and—

She emptied her stomach over the railing, only the quick hands of Caspian keeping her hair from being caught on it. Her stomach cramped and she squeezed her eyes shut, hands clenched around the edge to keep herself from toppling into the water. She wanted to rub at her chest, as if that would ease the ache behind her breastbone, but breathing was hard enough.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were so unexpected, so _out of place_ , that they pierced her dulled mind, making her aware of Caspian’s arm around her middle, the damp skin of his hand as he held her hair away from her face with an awkward grip that spoke of little to no practice in the matter.

“Sorry?” She nudged at him to move and received the space she desired.

“I never had the opportunity to hear the whole story—and it _is_ an educated guess—but I brought the box.” He handed her a handkerchief to wipe her face; she accepted it absently.

“The box?”

“We found a box with your emblem on it in the Narnian Archives. I remember studying Calormene literature as a child—“

Lucy had frozen at the mention of the emblem, heart pounding so hard that she thought she might throw up again had she not emptied her stomach most thoroughly. “Please,” she said, then cleared her voice and tried again, “ _please_ —“

Caspian, bless him, understood her stutters perfectly and—she held her breath—reached into the crawl space and withdrew a small unassuming box. She reached out with shaking hands to take it, nestling it carefully in her lap.

“I don’t have a key,” Caspian said apologetically.

“I don’t need any key.” She thumbed the pattern to open it and the box sprung open as if it had never been locked. The call of the sea leapt into her, crashing into her soul, and she didn’t have to even _touch_ her pelt—it was just a moment and then she was _herself_ and Caspian— _bless him—_ foisted her across the railing and then she was _home_.

She twirled into a school of fish, then threw herself above the water, singing out her joy.

She was _home_.

 

**The Present; the Citadel Isle**

The water lapped at the top edges of the oubliette, dissolving the salt crystals marking the highest point of the tide. The cool water streaming in from below was a relief as Lucy bobbed gently at the surface, eating a larger saltbrimmer that had found its way into her hiding place. She didn’t have much time—her observations said the change of guards would be soon—but a stomach filled with fish was better than an empty one for fighting, and for all that raw fish didn’t horrify her, it equally didn’t appeal to her human taste buds.

The last guard walked past the oubliette. Lucy carefully counted to thirty, then ducked under the water to get some distance before surging up, hitting the grating with her back and dislodging it with a clatter that made her wince.

For a tense moment, she was convinced that the guards would come running even though she knew they would be in the guard house and likely surrounded by noises that would make the sound of the grating not stand out. She then shifted into her human shape and got to work creating a hole large enough for her to wiggle through before replacing the grating.

Her back itched as she worked and she dearly wanted to keep looking around; she wanted to jump at every noise and dive to the ground at every movement. She _knew_ that she had time; she _knew_ that leaving no trace was more important than giving into hair-trigger instincts, but it didn’t make those instincts easier to repress.

Finally, the grate clicked into place and Lucy ran half-hunched up towards the cages at the back of the courtyard. Her clothing slid wetly against her skin and she shivered, wishing she could wear her pelt instead of her human skin.

“Ed?” she whispered once she’d crept between the cages and the wall, nudging the sleeping shape that seemed to be roughly the right size to be her brother. The figure made a questioning sound, and for a moment she thought that he’d woken up. Then there was snoring once again and Lucy had to find her better nature in order not to give in and kick him. “When we’re back in England, I’m going to wake you up at 6am _every morning_ until you learn to stop doing that.”

“He was worried about you.”

Lucy’s head hit the wall with a sharp crack as she jumped, and she only barely managed to bite off a choice word picked up from the very men from which she was hiding.

“Sorry, sorry!” Caspian reached out from his cage and ran a hand over the back of her head, frowning at his hand as he withdrew it. “No blood.”

“I have a hard head. Are—are you all right?”

“Mostly.” Caspian nodded grimly towards a pair of dark shapes sleeping together—from the size of them, it could only be Devrashaan and Eustace. “They broke Dev’s hocks—I’m not sure that he will be able to walk.”

Lucy gritted her teeth. “How could they—“

“The first minotaur they met up close.” Caspian reached out for her hand and only then she realized she’d clenched it so hard that her nails had broken the skin. “They wouldn’t know that Dev is the gentlest of us all.”

“I don’t have my Cordial with me.” She couldn’t afford to be angry, not right now. “We need to find a way to bring him with us.”

Caspian had turned to study the guards at the main tower, the pairs walking the walls. “We’d need to fight.”

“Do you know where they keep your weapons?”

“Too dangerous—and not something you can do on your own.”

Needing a touch of calm, Lucy turned her thoughts to Aslan, receiving a soft purr in return. “I’m not using my dagger for war.” _Not again_.

“I would never ask.” Caspian searched her face. “Is there any way to escape the way you came?”

“No. If not for my pelt—you would drown. Dev wouldn’t fit.”

“Then we need to fight.” Caspian studied their resources grimly. “Perhaps Edmund and I might acquire weapons if you let us out.”

A thought sparked. “Perhaps not . . . Stay here.”

As she sneaked away, she thought she heard Caspian grumble that it was not as if he had a choice, but she ignored it in favor of ducking into what had once been another guard tower, but was now, due to its dilapidated state, a glorified storage room.

“ _Thank you_ , Aslan,” she breathed once she saw the contents, then grabbed what she could carry before making her way back to the cages.

Caspian broke out in a grin as he saw her, then kicked Edmund to wake him up. “I believe your sister has found us a way out,” he whispered.

Lucy gently put down her burden, scowling as Edmund sat straight up. “For _you_ he wakes up.”

Edmund shuffled over to the two of them, raising an eyebrow at her findings. “Quite sure that we remember our basics, are you.”

“If not, I will get Drinian to help you brush up when we get back.” Lucy crawled over to the other cage while Edmund and Caspian went over her burden. Dev was shaking, she noticed, and Eustace, next to him—was _awake_ , she realized, eyes blank with worry and arms in a death grip around Dev, giving him whatever warmth he had to share.

Giving Dev a quick once over, Lucy realized that matters were worse than she’d thought. His hocks had not only been broken, they’d been _crushed_ , and from the state of the wounds and the unnaturally pale tint of the skin visible through the pelt, the person that had done this had entertained no thoughts of Dev ever walking again. If they’d kept him alive they intended to sell him as a collectible at best.

Caspian had been right; there was no chance of Dev managing to walk—and if he attempted to do so, she would not consider for a moment before setting him straight. Which, knowing him, was not a far off possibility.

Turning to Eustace, she searched his eyes for any sign of recognition. “Eustace?”

His eyes flickered, then they focused on her and sharpened. “Lu?”

She knew the sudden familiarity was due the circumstances, but it nevertheless sent a spark of warmness through her to hear him use the diminutive. “Yes, I’m here—we’re getting out. How is Dev? He looks feverish.”

“They—Lu, they—“ His voice shook.

“I know.” She risked wiggling her hand into his, figuring he was awake enough not to startle, and squeezed it. “Just tell me how he’s doing?”

“I don’t know! He seemed fine—in pain, but fine—but then he started shivering and talking in a queer manner.” Eustace carefully let go of Dev and pushed himself upright but not away—as if he couldn’t bear to go away. “Lu, will he—is he dying?”

Part of her didn’t want to answer the question. There were many that might have been saved that hadn’t been for the distance between them and the Cordial. It was far from certain that they would make it in time—she could heal injury, but death was beyond her grasp. “Not if I have a say in the matter,” she eventually decided on. “I found us some weapons—ones you are likely more familiar with than any of us seeing as you’ve been practicing hard with Dev.”

Eustace nodded, then, with a last look at Dev, followed her to examine the poles and staffs she had nabbed from storage. Meant for fencing or not, they would make do as weapons. They would also heighten the chance that their targets would survive, which, Lucy had to admit, sat easier in her heart than the thought of killing.

The next opportunity to escape—when the kitchens brought out food for the night guards and emptied the main tower—was yet some time away and they settled in a deceptively calm manner in their cages with Lucy carefully hidden out of sight and brainstormed a strategy for how they would get Dev out without further injury. When the guards started to lose their alertness at the promise of food, they would be ready.

 

**The Past; the Dragon’s Island**

Lucy had never thought it possible, but at this moment she had to admit it was truth: she did not want to see the sea for at least a fortnight and most _definitely_ did not want to wear her skin for at least half again that long. She didn’t expect that truth to last past the next morning, but as she swam determinedly towards the shore, poking her head above the surface every now and then to indicate safe passage with a bark, it seemed to be at the very center of her being.

Twelve days of hurricane winds and nine of drifting slowly east, only sometimes finding wind to catch their improvised sails, and Lucy wanted nothing more than to have feet, hands and a blanket to sleep beneath. _Aslan_ , she thought as she swam upwards yet another time, _please help me bring them to shore_. She broke the surface, barked in the direction of the ship and waited for someone to confirm.

“I see you, Lucy.” It was Caspian on watch duty at the moment, she realized dimly. Hadn’t it been Dev last time she came up? “Drinian believes he can take us the rest of the way into the harbor—please, get to the shore, you have more than earned it—“

Lucy honked—the sound barely audible—and slipped beneath the surface again, propelling herself in a straight line towards the beach. Her mind was completely empty of thought, completely empty of anything but the will to stay conscious until she reached land. Once she passed out, she would be dead to the world. If she gave in while in the water, they would have to dive in to find her if she wasn’t to drown. If they noticed.

She kicked more firmly with her tail. Only a little further.

The moment she felt sand against her stomach, she gave in and sank into darkness—

 _—_ and drifted.

 

_Lucy . . ._

She stirred. _Aslan?_

There was a sense of warmth against her face, as if something had breathed on her. _Dear one, come with me. There are yet things to be done._

 _I don’t think I can move_ , she confessed. _I’m too tired._

Another flash of warmth, physical this time, nudging her. _Come, daughter._

Finding the last reserves of will within her, Lucy rolled onto Aslan’s back, burying her face in his mane. She buried her fingers in it as well, letting his warmth and strength seep into her. There was movement beneath her—Aslan was taking her somewhere—but she had not the mind to ask him where.

 _Are they all right?_ she asked after a while, feeling as if she had just enough strength to ask. _I know they were running out of water_.

 _Do not worry, dear one. The task before you has little to do with physical things; leave those matters to those that are in a place to manage them._ Then, as muscles bunched beneath her as if to make a great leap; _hold on_.

There was a sense of flying then, followed by jostle as they touched down. Instinctively, Lucy looked up to take in her surroundings—and she could _see . . ._

— _“Go beneath, Majesty!” Drinian shouted. “This is not the place for a—“_

_Lucy shot him a look. “This is not the time, Captain!”_

_From the look on his face, he dearly wished it was the time. “Majesty—“_

_“I’m a Selkie, Captain! You have one single crew member for whom it doesn’t matter if I get washed overboard. Use me!”—_

_No, dear one._ The vision faded. _That is not why you were brought here._

Lucy wanted to ask why it was then that he had come for her, but instead she tumbled into another . . .

— _The Dawn Treader broke her heart, masts broken and hull battered by the winds and sea. Edmund and Caspian, bent over the railing to see her, were pasty-white and hollow-eyed. Drinian, at the helm still after twelve days of fighting for their lives, had the look of someone at the end of his endurance._

_“—most of the water barrels sprung leaks.”_

_Lucy shifted her grip on the boat they had lowered for her to rest on. “And we’re too far away from the Lone Islands to turn around. Not to mention the winds are against us.”_

_Caspian shot a look at Edmund that Edmund deliberately ignored as he spoke up. “Can you stay in the water, Lu? I hate to admit it, but having one less person needing water rations will give us time.”_

_She was nodding before he finished. “Of course.”—_

The dream shattered as she fell onto the ground—the _grass_ , she realized, impossibly green and softer than any mattress—and rolled automatically upright, staring blearily at what appeared to be a big dragon.

It stared back.

Then it suddenly jerked forwards, bowling her over as it tried to—she didn’t know what, but it didn’t seem aggressive. _Hey there,_ she managed to get out in between head butts. _Careful—I’m a fair bit smaller than you._

The dragon abruptly pulled back, sitting on his behind in the most undragonlike manner. In her modest opinion, it looked decidedly ashamed of itself.

 _No need to be like that!_ She crawled over to pat his giant foot. _You didn’t hurt me._

The dragon suddenly lifted his head and stared into the distance. Then it turned around and began to shuffle towards—a well? Lucy frowned. There was something eerily familiar with her surroundings and yet she could swear that she had never been here before.

 _Watch_ , Aslan’s head echoed in her head. _Do not be afraid_.

What happened next vibrated in her bones like only one event had ever done before and she found herself crying, reliving that moment as well as the current one. She could almost see Aslan superimposed on the dragon and then Eustace and her heart ached with a strength that scarcely left her able to breathe. _Death_ and _rebirth_ intertwined and they were both so painful and joyful they could not be parted.

When Eustace broke the surface with a great gasp for breath, she threw herself forward and grabbed him by the arms, pulling him out and embracing him. His arms went around her in return, holding her hard enough her ribs protested, and they wept—then rested as Aslan curled around them, his deep purrs the very essence of acceptance.

 _Is this Aslan?_ Eustace asked. _Is this the Lion you spoke of?_

Lucy laughed. _You know the answer to that if you just look inside yourself._

The smile on his face then could’ve rivaled the sun.

 

She came to with a start, choking on the air. The sun hurt her eyes and she felt as if she had been battered to the very inch of her life. Losing her balance as fast as she’d sat up, she threw her arm out to find something to hold on to and found herself caught as Caspian threw himself down beside her with a dull thud that must have been one of breaking both his knee caps at the very _least_.

“Breathe,” he told her. “Take it easy; just breathe. You’ve been asleep for nearly a week.”

Lucy blinked up at him. “A week?”

“You were exhausted.” Caspian looked over his shoulder—she followed his gaze and found Eustace and Edmund talking quietly under a gathering of tall palm trees—a hard look in his eyes. “Your brother should not have—“

“Caspian.” She tugged on his arm. When she was sure she had his attention, she told him, slowly, “It was my choice. If I could help all of you survive, then _anything_ was worth it.”

From the way the arm around her shoulders tightened, he didn’t agree. “You almost died—Edmund gave you a drop of Cordial on the third day. We didn’t know whether it would help.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the Cordial only worked on injuries—not exhaustion. “But I didn’t die. Aslan were with me.”

“I would rather he’d been with you when you were saving our hides.”

“He was.” Lucy squeezed his arm gently with a smile. “How do you think I managed to lead you to safety?”

Caspian laughed—but it was not a happy laugh. “You have great faith in Aslan, Lucy. Far more than I.”

“That’s all right. I have enough faith for us both.” Lucy looked over at her brother and cousin—they seemed to have finished their conversation. “Now, help me get to my feet and get over to my dear relatives. I do believe I have a happy event to congratulate them for.”

Caspian’s face went still. “Ah, Lucy. Something occurred while you were—“

Lucy stopped him with a nod of her head. “It’s all fine. Eustace is fine, I am fine—and in time you will be.”

They made their way over to the two, Caspian embracing Eustace with a few hefty pats to Eustace’s back that made Eustace wince. Edmund simply brought his forehead to Lucy’s, holding her close with one arm.

“I’m glad you are all right,” he told her.

“So am I.”

“Caspian was very concerned.”

Lucy closed her eyes. “I know.”

“Will you—?”

“I don’t know, Ed, I just don’t know.”

**The Present; the Citadel Isle**

In the end the decision to leave Dev to Lucy had been easy. Edmund knew of the reasons she was reluctant to deal a killing blow and Caspian knew some of the reasons why. Eustace would—for all the changes to his personality—not question a ‘girl’ choosing to stay out battle. She gave them all information that she could in addition to what they had found out themselves, then waited outside the tower as they went inside, feeling as if her flesh would crawl off her bones.

It was a surprisingly quiet fight for all that it was two against three. She heard a sigh when the first man went down, then a half-choked yell as the other did. Then they came out—Eustace quietly throwing up behind a bush—and Lucy went inside to retrieve what she needed.

“—when she wasn’t leading the scouts, my sister spent much time with the wounded,” Edmund was saying as she returned outside, burdened with blankets, ropes and a dagger she had liberated off one of the bodies (unconscious bodies, she had been relieved to notice). “She’s stronger than she looks.”

“She doesn’t look like it,” Eustace admitted.

“That’s part of the point,” Lucy told him. “Come—Dev will be calmer if you aid me with moving him once we’ve improvised a stretcher.”

“Won’t it hurt him?” Eustace’s attention had already turned to Dev and he didn’t notice when Edmund and Caspian went off after a shared look with Lucy. It would have been too much to ask him to participate in something like this, and while Lucy could have managed by herself in a pinch, his help would be welcome.

Dev was burning up, Lucy noted grimly as she bound up his hocks as well as she could with her limited resources. They needed to get him to the ship—or get her Cordial delivered to them—soon, or it was far from certain that he would ever wake up from his sleep. The way he responded to Eustace’s worried murmuring was assuring however—she would’ve put little faith in his survival had he not moved every time Eustace spoke.

Once the stretcher was made and Dev had been carefully moved on top, Lucy lead the way to the small archway through which they could reach a cove—and, more importantly, the cave systems that ran beneath the entire coastline of the island. They caught up with Caspian and Edmund halfway down the winding road down there, stepping out of a thicket beside the road. Caspian surreptitiously wiped his hands on his tunic when he saw them; Edmund didn’t bother. The flecks of blood on their faces told the story well enough; their journey below had not gone as well as clearing the courtyard.

The two of them took over the stretcher without a word, Eustace continuing at Dev’s side without seeming to notice the change. Lucy set off at a lope down the road, wanting to make sure there were no surprises—the caves would be their saving, but it was not wholly unlikely that someone had ended up in there and had yet to return outside due to the tide.

Once assured that the cove was empty, Lucy waited for the others to catch up, then shifted and dove into the water. It didn’t take long to find out that there was indeed a barefoot soldier stranded in one of the higher caves—and equally little time to recognize him from the description given to her by Eustace.

She didn’t give him a chance and once it was over she towed him into the open ocean—the tide would bring him out into the ocean where his body would become food for those who needed it.

The others had begun to make their way into the caves when she returned, and from there she lead them to one of the safer caves where they might stay until she could return with help—and the Cordial.

“Stay safe,” Caspian told her before he sent her off with a pat on the head.

Lucy honked, and then she was off. She had a friend to save.

 

**The Past; the Wizard’s Island**

She felt dirty.

Dirty in a way that no amount of water or soap could ever wash away. Dirty and guilty and ashamed—and all of it clinging to every sense she had of who she was. She had known that she was insecure in some ways; she certainly had enough self-awareness to know that part of why her physical awareness of Caspian scared her was that she did not have a very good opinion of herself when it came to that kind of thing—for a good reason. Although she supposed that at this point that should be revised into ‘reasons’.

“Lu?” Edmund touched her shoulder. “Coming for tea?”

“No—no, I think I need some time alone.” She gestured towards her head, knowing that he’d understand. “Crisis of faith.”

Edmund shook his head. “Lu, sometimes I think that we’ve been doing you a disservice saying that you’re the closest to Aslan – for all that it’s true.”

Giving him a quick hug, Lucy said, “It gives me something to live up to. I’ll be all right, Ed. I just need some time to think.”

“Aslan be with you then—and you had better eat when you’ve had enough thinking. You don’t want to make Tharnook come after you wanting to know what’s wrong with her cooking.”

“I will, I promise.”

He retreated to the crowds around the fires and Lucy retreated into the trees—choosing not to take shelter by the comfort of the sea. At this moment, she did not feel as if she deserved it.

In her mind she ran over the moment she had given in to temptation over and over. Trying to tell why, how, what had led up to it. The thoughts spun in circles, unstoppable and unchangeable. Then, from one moment to the next, she just . . . stopped.

 _Aslan_ , she thought. _What am I doing?_

As if to answer her question, there was a great disturbance above her in the trees – crashing and thudding and the occasional yelping – then Caspian landed, shoulders first, in a heap at her feet.

Lucy stared.

Caspian moaned.

“What in Aslan’s name are you _doing_?” she finally said, scurrying over to run her hands over him. “No, stop squirming, I need to check for broken bones. _Lie still_.”

“Edmund told us about something he used to do with a Giant friend of his—ow!”

“If that _thing_ is what I believe it is, then you deserve it. I thought you were more reasonable than that!”

“It seemed reasonable at the time!” Caspian defended himself. “And to be fair, it _did_ work until we misjudged the angles.”

“And would it have been worth it if you broke your neck?” she wanted to know. “Or your _back_? Do you have a secret wish not to be able to walk again?”

“As if walking _alone_ into an unknown wizard’s house is any better!”

Lucy sat back in disgust. “Get up, you lump. You are quite obviously fine if you can pick fights.”

“I’m not picking a fight.” Caspian dusted himself off, removing stray pine needles from his hair and attempting to dig twigs out of his clothing. Lucy did _not_ tell him about the cone woven into his hair in the back. “I’m telling you the truth. It was _foolish_ , Lucy.”

“I took a risk, ”Lucy acknowledged. “One that very likely could help some very nice people—and that would impact far less people than your death would. You’re a _king_ , Caspian.”

“And you are a queen!”

“But not a reigning one!”

“From how you behave you certainly wouldn’t think that way!”

“Oh, and now you’re saying I’m childish?”

“I’m saying that you’re _behaving_ like a child!”

“And that is different from you—how?”

“At least I’m not— _ow_!”

“Children, children,” Edmund tutted, walking into their glen bouncing a cone up and down in his hand. “Here I come to make sure that Caspian landed on nothing more dangerous than a wicked tall pine and what do I find? Our King and our Lady of the Sea going at it like wolf cubs at tea! I’m sure the crew would be _very_ impressed if they saw you now.”

Lucy blushed. “I—“

“I picked a fight,” Caspian interrupted her. “I’m the one—“ The cone hit Caspian on the nose. “ _Aslan_!”

“No more fighting,” Edmund told them.

Caspian glared at him. “Apologizing is not fighting.”

“If that was an apology, you need more practice.” Edmund picked up another cone. “Now, tell my sister that she made you worried, apologize for making _her_ worried, and then we can all go back and eat before Tharnook decides that unseasoned gruel would be the healthiest thing to feed us for the next week.”

Lucy took a deep breath, turning to Caspian. “I’m sorry for worrying you—but not sorry that I went.”

Caspian looked at his feet. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Pushing past the tap-dancing squirrels in her heart, Lucy tiptoed up and embraced him (surreptitiously removing the cone from his hair). “Let’s agree to both be careful, yes?”

Settling his arms around her, Caspian nodded into her hair. “I’m sorry for being foolish with my life.”

Lucy giggled. “It _is_ a fun thing to do though. Just not here—and not without an actual Giant.”

“Duly noted.”

“Now let’s go!” Edmund interrupted. “Gruel, people. _Gruel_.”

“Yes, mother,” Lucy and Caspian echoed; then they all laughed as they began to make their way back to camp.

 

**The Present; the Citadel Isle**

The relief on Drinian’s face as she clambered into the boat they kept in the water for her could not be described in words. “My Lady!” he called down as she shifted. “We feared you were lost.”

Taking a moment to feel out her limbs, Lucy then made her way over to the rope ladder they lowered for her. “The news is not all good,” she shouted at him as she climbed. “I will need a boat, a few men and my Cordial to be ready in as short time as possible—the citadel _is_ inhabited and they are _not_ very friendly.”

The curse Drinian let out was Calormene in origin, Lucy thought, and not something he would usually let slip. “Aye, My Lady—Jori, prepare a landing party! And fetch the Queen’s Cordial!”

She reached the top and Drinian lifted her neatly onboard, putting her down securely and giving her a once over. “You need some spiced wine and a minute to warm up before going out again—and you’ll be going in the boat.”

“Then bring strong rowers,” she told him, accepting the cloak he laid over her shoulders. “Dev is badly injured and without the Cordial, he won’t survive the night.”

“Dev would not want you to fall ill as well.” Drinian handed her a goblet. “Is there likely to be fighting?”

Lucy shook her head. “We cleared our path down the caves. They might have discovered that we’re gone, but the place I left them is safe enough with the tides as high as they are. I doubt they have mapped the caves to their full extent.”

Drinian nodded. “Double lookouts in the nest!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Double watch on deck. If you see even a _glint_ of light, you raise the alarm. There will be search parties out and we have injured coming in. Anyone that fails to report will have their rum privileges withdrawn for a fortnight.”

Jori appeared from below deck, handing her the Cordial and one of her cloaks. Lucy thanked him and returned Drinian’s cloak, then let Drinian help her across the railing to take the swing down to their larger boat and the landing party.

They rowed in near silence, broken only as Lucy gave further instructions on where to go. Within a glass, they entered the caves and soon after that they caught sight of the foursome ashore. Lucy jumped over the side as soon as the water was shallow enough and rushed to Dev, whose head rested in Eustace’s lap. It was a moment’s work to pry his mouth open, nudge his tongue aside and stick her hand as far inside as she could to let a single drop work its way into his system.

A single shiver wracked through him as she withdrew her hand, then he opened his eyes blinking slowly. “Eu—stace--?”

Lucy sat back on her haunches and just breathed while Eustace began to cry helplessly over Dev’s head. Dev slowly pushed himself upright as if not sure whether he was healed enough or not, then, when sure of his shape, patted Eustace on the head as if _he_ was the one injured.

They made their way into the boat, Lucy somehow ending up next to Caspian, and she leaned into him wearily, letting her eyes fall closed. He adjusted to accommodate her, leaning his head against hers as well, even though it would give him an awful crick in the neck.

After a moment, Lucy said, quietly, “The only reason I could escape was because they took me aside to—“

“I know.” Caspian kept his voice low to match hers. “I saw.” Then, after a moment, “We all saw.”

“It was their mistake.” She didn’t know she had said it before she did. “They thought I was weak.”

“And you most definitely are not.”

“Not in the ways of survival and war. But—I’m weak in other ways.”

There was a fleeting sense of pressure as he turned his head slightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

But there was no way she could not.

**The Past; the Reef Island**

They had been anchored in the sheltered bay of a sparsely vegetated rock isle for five days, seeking shelter from strong winds that threatened to tear their sails if they persisted in attempting to reach the shadow on the horizon that might be an island—or not, according to Reep, who thought that it might very well be a range of reefs much like the one they had sought to navigate before storm winds started up in the west. It had been thought initially that their stay would be short, but with the discovery of a fresh water well and a copse of trees bearing edible fruit on the opposite end of the isle, Drinian in concert with Edmund and Caspian had made the decision to ride the weather out at anchor.

It had proven to be a fortuitous decision, allowing the crew to get used to the changes in Eustace’s personality in the aftermath of the Dragon Island—and allowing Eustace to find his footing as well. Lucy, in addition, found the reprieve most refreshing; it wasn’t often she could allow herself to simply dive into the waters each morning and dance among the kelp and fellow sea life. Even with the limited chores given to her as a royal personage, she felt the pressure—mostly from herself—to be useful and had as such become an integral part of the look-outs, removing the need for a fair amount of caution in uncertain waters.

Now, however, even with winds howling outside the calm given to them by the sheltering cliffs, she found that she had the time to simply be herself. It did not stop her from helping Dev in his endeavor to map their surroundings of course—he was an incredible cartographer, but his nature (and hoofs!) didn’t lend themselves well for extended time in a row boat. They had worked out a complicated system to communicate without the need to switch shapes back and forth, and Lucy was proud of it to a slightly shameful degree.

During this fifth day, however, charting done and water barrels refilled, she felt free to simply play in the water and graciously deign to return small floating items to their owners onboard the ship. Drinian had, in the beginning, protested against the indignity of it, but once Lucy pointed out that Aslan himself deigned to play with youngsters and revelers from time to time, there could be nothing wrong with a Queen doing the same—as long as it wasn’t _all_ the time.

Towards the late afternoon when all but the look-outs had retreated either ashore to the camp set up there, or below to their hammocks, Lucy found herself alone, however, floating on her back beneath the surface and watching the colors change above as the clouds moved with the winds and the sparse sunlight flickered between them. It was . . . restful, even though she missed the companionship of the naiads and merpeople she had swam with in Narnia.

The water rippled above her as a row boat neared, disturbing the view. Lucy, driven by curiosity, propelled herself to the surface, popping her head out of the water.

“There you are!” The oars were withdrawn into the boat and Caspian leaned over the side. “Drinian mentioned you like this spot.”

Lucy clicked at him in agreement.

Caspian made a noise that Lucy was rather sure he would never admit having made, reaching down to rub his hand over her head. “Don’t tell anyone, but you are absolutely beautiful like this,” he told her, then, added quickly, “Not that you aren’t in your human shape—I mean—“

She barked at him—to avoid him further embarrassment or to avoid hers, she didn’t know. It did make Caspian go silent though, and when he said nothing further, she did a few twirls, trying to get her bearings, then propelled herself up and into the boat. Caspian cursed as the boat nearly overturned under her weight, throwing himself backwards to counter it, then started laughing helplessly as she turned back into a human and promptly sprawled on her behind.

“I had forgotten that,” she told him.

“I didn’t know you could climb into boats,” he retorted.

“It’s a neat trick, isn’t it?” She rolled to her knees and climbed into a seat. “I didn’t suppose you came to swim with me.”

“As enjoyable as that sounds, no.” Caspian took a quick glance around. “Let’s go into the cove over there; I’d rather not be overheard.”

Lucy felt her cheeks go warm. “W-what?”

Caspian coughed. “Drinian, er, thought it might be time for me to—what I mean to say is . . .” He stared at his hands, looking flustered. Then his body language changed from embarrassed young man to something much more assured and Lucy found herself utterly unable to meet his eye—or even look at him. “I’m aware that you won’t—that you _can’t_ stay in this world. Still I would like to—I would like to court you.”

The temptation to put on her pelt and tip over the edge into the water, swimming away from the question and all that it meant was almost impossible to resist. She wasn’t . . . new to this sort of arrangement—they had all been in courtships, relationships and even a marriage during their reign. It _felt_ new however—much as her Narnian life reset with every new visit, her experience with intimate matters seemed to do the same. Perhaps due the time spent as a child in between, but for all that her mind said that she had been involved romantically with someone before, that was not how it felt.

She pushed her hair behind her ears, then pulled her fingers through it, trying to find the courage to meet his eye. “Caspian, I—I do like you, but. . .” The helplessness achieved what her logical mind had not and she met his eyes. “My time here is limited.” _Or I would tell you that you make my stomach fluttery and that I sometimes can’t take my eyes off the strands of hair that keep sticking to your face. That your voice makes me smile and that Edmund keeps switching our places around to put me next to you so we can talk as he knows I enjoy it._

“I know.” Caspian carefully settled the oars in their holders, then bent over to catch her hands in his. “ _I know_. And yet—there are many things that we know cannot last that we nevertheless would never give up.” As if sensing that she was near a breakdown, he raised her hands and pressed a kiss to each, then returned to the oars. “Let’s return to the ship. You need the time to consider.”

Impulsively, Lucy leaned forwards and laid a hand along his face. “I do like you,” she told him intently

There was a slight smile on his face as Caspian turned his face into her palm. “I know,” he repeated.

Lucy had never in her life wanted to jump into the unknown as much as she did that moment.

 

 

**The Present; Open waters**

With the winds favorable, they put a decent distance between themselves and the slavers’ island the next three days. The island was carefully marked down on their charts—Caspian said that he wanted to return some day and make sure that the slavery would end—with added notations about the caves and natural vents for visitors.

Dev was fully recovered and had once again taken up teaching Eustace how to fight, while Edmund spent time in the Crow’s Nest ( _Just thinking_ , he told Lucy, _you know how it is_.). Lucy returned to her habit of resting in the Dragon’s Mouth at the bow, half acting as a look-out when they entered shallows and half avoiding to think about what had happened. Or – if she was to be perfectly honest to herself – thinking about what had _not_ happened.

On the fourth day, Lucy crawled to her post to find Caspian waiting for her. He had a goblet of wine with him, along with some bread with spiced and dried meat wrapped in sail cloth.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he told her when she hesitated on the way out. “I can go if you don’t want to, but—please.”

Lucy nodded and made herself comfortable, curling up in her usual way and wrapping herself in her cloak against the cold spray and the winds. “Is it about the island?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to talk about that just yet.

“No—unless you want to?”

“I’d rather not.” She accepted the goblet, taking a sip. “If that’s not it, though—?”

“Do you remember the morning we first sighted the Slaver’s Island?”

Lucy stopped half-way through biting off a chunk of bread. Then she remembered herself and chewed it carefully before answering. “Yes. Caspian—“

“I asked you a question,” he continued, undeterred, “and you told me that for all that you wanted to, you couldn’t. Is that still your answer?”

Lucy let her hands drop into her lap, squeezing the bread, then gentling her grip, over and over. She remembered saying that. She remembered the feeling that had accompanied it.

“Did you know that Susan was married during our reign?” she finally said. “She met and fell in love with a Calormene noble that had the integrity to see past his preconceptions and fall in love with her as well—and accept the culture he would have to know in order to marry her.”

She stretched her legs out, leaning her head back to watch the skies. Her hands were cold, so she tucked them under her thighs to warm them up.

“They were very much in love. When the news of the White Stag reached us, they had been married for three years. Susan had only just recovered from giving birth to their daughter.”

“Daughter—?”

“Her name was Cygna—I talked to Trufflehunter at our first return to Narnia, and it appears that she took the throne when we were gone.”

Lucy tried to focus on what came next, but all words that she could come up with seemed to be trapped inside her. It was one thing to . . . understand; a whole other to share that understanding. Still, Caspian needed to know. She took a deep breath, then reached out blindly towards him in a silent request.

Caspian took her hand willingly, warming it between his own, and in that warmth, she found her courage.

“I think a small something broke inside Susan when we returned to England. Our memories mostly faded – including those of her daughter. When we returned to Narnia, they all came back. To learn that so much time had passed, to learn that her daughter had been dead for such a long time . . .”

 _Forgive me_ , she thought, but she wasn’t sure as to whom it was aimed.

“Susan turned away from Narnia when we returned.”

“Do you believe that you would do the same?”

Lucy drew for breath, then expelled it. “No. I believe that I would understand her.” _And that is just as bad._

“I don’t understand,” Caspian confessed.

“I know.” She smiled at him. “I can’t give you eternity, Caspian. But I can give you this voyage.”

For a moment, the entire world seemed to be in his eyes. “I can’t ask for more.”

“You should,” she told him. “You should ask for everything.”

He tugged at her arm and she obligingly slid over, nestling against him. “That is between me and Aslan. This is between me and you.”

Perhaps that would be enough, she thought.

 

_Caspian X was said to never marry, but instead chose to adopt a prince from Archenland, who was said to be the descendant of the last Princess of Narnia, sister of the last King and wife of the King of Archenland. It is said that in returning the Line of Pevensie to the throne of Narnia, he ensured the land peace and fortune for many years to come._


End file.
